by Hope Ramsay
“Him? You mean Randall?”
“Yeah. Him.” Bubba sounded miserable.
“You know, I rather think that would be poor form right here in the middle of the party.”
“Right. We could sneak up on him later and open up a can of whup ass on him.”
“Hm, yes, I suppose he deserves it for lassoing Caroline off that float.”
“He manhandled her. I don’t like it when people do that to Rocky.”
Hugh refrained from pointing out that Bubba had manhandled Caroline, or that Hugh had not liked it either. Instead he said, “I think Caroline would be quite annoyed at us if we picked a fight with Randall. She was quite angry with me on Thursday for what happened. I don’t think she approves of fighting.”
“That’s probably right. But she’s ignoring me.”
“Well, there is more than one way to get a woman to notice you.”
Bubba turned to give him a long, hard stare. Bubba was a very large man. Hugh doubted he could take him a second time, especially since he appeared to be stone sober at the moment.
“I think she’s noticed you plenty, from what I’ve heard around town,” Bubba said, his voice taking on an edge.
“Well, last night doesn’t count. I got her drunk, which I realize was reprehensible. But let’s face it, she’s noticing Randall right at the moment, and she looks to be completely sober.”
“Right.”
“So I’ve got an idea.”
“You do?”
Hugh nodded. “If we want her to notice us, we can’t stand here on the sidelines. We have to join the battle, right there on the football pitch, as they say.”
Bubba frowned. “You know, you sound real pretty when you talk, but I don’t understand half of what you say.”
“Bubba, old man, we need to get into the game.”
“Right. But how? Besides knocking his block off.”
Hugh scanned the crowd looking for wallflowers. He found two: the pretty girl with long brown hair and a curvy figure who had been dining with Caroline on Thursday night, and Cissy Warren, who was scanning the crowd, no doubt looking for Hugh so she could drag him back downstairs.
“Perfect. You see that young lady over there? The one who came to your rescue on Thursday?”
“You mean Rachel? She’s Rocky’s friend. She’s real pretty.”
“Yes, she’s quite dishy. Which is the point. Go ask her to dance.”
“Me? Ask Rachel Polk? Uh, she isn’t ever going to dance with me. Especially after what happened to my face. She’s too pretty for me.”
“She is not. She cares about you. She tried to save your teeth.”
“Yeah, she did. Then she disappeared after the doc told her it was a hopeless case. I’m sure she isn’t interested in a guy who looks like a hillbilly.”
“Nonsense. I’m sure she likes you quite a bit. And besides, your smile can be fixed. You’re an American, and all Americans have fabulous smiles. The number of dentists per capita in your country is completely amazing.”
“The doc said they could fix my teeth with implants.”
“So, see? You should go right over there and thank her for trying to save your teeth. And then dance with her. Dance a slow dance with her.”
“Why?”
“Because it will send Caroline the message that you don’t care if she’s off dancing the night away with that cowboy.”
“But that’s not the message I want to send.”
“I know. It’s reverse psychology. See, if she doesn’t think you care, then she’s going to care more.”
“Uh-huh. It kind of makes sense, I guess. Sort of.”
“Trust me. This works all the time.”
Bubba frowned. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to dance with Cissy Warren. She’s rich. I’m not entirely sure I like her very much, but she certainly fits the bill when it comes to Miriam Randall’s forecast for me.”
“Miriam gave you a forecast?”
“Yes, she told me to marry a rich woman, which is, more or less, what my grandfather used to tell me when I was a lad.”
“Well, that kind of leaves Rocky out of the running, don’t it?” Bubba grinned. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
“Well, I suppose so, more’s the pity. But we can still carry on. Are you game?”
Bubba shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go get ’em.”
“I’m a freaking genius,” Dash said. “Look.”
Caroline turned her head and saw two things. Bubba and Rachel dancing together, and beyond them, Lord Woolham guiding the model-thin and naturally blond Cissy Warren around the dance floor with his undeniable grace and aplomb.
A whole raft of conflicted feelings raced through her. Seeing Bubba dancing was a positive sign. Seeing him dance with her best friend was, on the other hand, deeply distressing. The last thing Rachel needed was clingy Bubba screwing up her life.
And then there was the whole Hugh and Cissy thing. She didn’t like them dancing. Not even a teeny bit.
But there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. Cissy and Hugh matched. They were both rich and came from blue-blooded families. She was the country girl who needed to be looking for a regular Joe.
“What? Aren’t you happy?” Dash asked.
Caroline turned back toward him and studied his craggy face for a long moment. He was handsome, and funny, and a pain in the backside most of the time. They had known each other since she was a little girl. He was her brothers’ friend.
He was rich. He owned almost all the land in the general vicinity. He’d worked with his hands most of his life. He was a regular guy. People liked him, now that he was working through his problems. He’d gotten sober. Cleaned up his act.
There was a lot a girl could like in a man like Dash. But Caroline wasn’t the girl.
“What? Why are you looking at me that way?”
“You’re sweet, you know.”
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“I’m not. You’re sweet but you’re also a terrible dancer. And my poor bare feet need a break.”
“Okay. Want to take a walk down to the first pier? That should get everyone talking.”
“No. I don’t need any more talk. And besides, while I want Bubba to move on, I’m not sure I want him to move on to Rachel.”
Dash frowned. “What? Are you jealous?”
She rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Dash, I wouldn’t wish Bubba on my worst enemy, let alone my best friend.”
He gave her a sober look. “You know, Bubba is an all-right guy when he’s sober. Rachel could do worse.”
“I don’t think Rachel and Bubba are a match made in Heaven.”
“Well, maybe not, but look at him. He’s enjoying himself for once. So, see, I’m a genius. You should be grateful to me.”
“Yeah, I guess, but right now I’m just exhausted. And you need to rest that leg. So let’s drop the charade, okay? I need some alone time.”
“Okay. I need to wet my whistle anyways.”
He leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek. He played it up and lingered over it, but it was still a brotherly kiss.
Caroline left him at the pavilion with a bunch of local guys discussing Carolina football like the only teams in the universe were Clemson and the University of South Carolina. She wandered down to the river’s edge, where she collapsed onto a wooden bench. She sucked in the warm summer air, filled with the coppery scent of black water. Out beyond the riverbank, a gaggle of teenagers were trying to sink the float that rode the current between the first pier and the baby pool. They would pile on, get the float under water, and then the current would take over and knock people off. The activity came with its share of girls shrieking and boys laughing.
Caroline had been one of those kids once. The first day of the Watermelon Festival used to be the best day of the year. School was out, the weather was warm, the food was delicious, and her family got to come swimming out here.
All of that had changed tw
elve years ago, the last time she’d put on this dress.
And now, thanks to Dash’s admittedly brilliant plan, she might never be able to live down the legend.
She’d heard folks whispering all day. They halfway expected her to ride off in Dash’s Cadillac tonight and come back two days from now as his blushing bride.
Such was the legacy that Stone and Sharon had left in their wake. Everyone wanted a happy ending to that story. Unfortunately Stone’s happy ending had been cut short. So now everyone kept looking for another, substitute, Watermelon Festival romance.
She was doomed. She would have to play this charade for a while. And then when folks realized it was a hoax, she’d get blamed. Dash was right, his lasso had made her a living legend, and not in a good way either.
Her throat knotted up at that thought. She had no reason to cry, except that sometimes when she thought about Sharon and Stone, she’d get all weepy. Sharon had treated her like a grown-up, even when she’d been a teenager. Her sister-in-law had encouraged her to go to college, to be her own woman.
Sharon had loved Caroline’s brother, but Sharon had given up a lot to be with him. Sometimes Caroline wondered if Stone understood all that Sharon had sacrificed in the name of love.
And now Sharon was gone, and Caroline missed her. For a little instant, it almost felt as if Sharon was right there with her, enjoying the day as she always had. Sharon loved the Watermelon Festival. Caroline’s eyes watered up, just thinking about Stone and Sharon.
Great. She needed to have a crying jag in front of everyone like she needed a hole in the head. She gathered up the yards of tulle in her skirt and raced on her bare feet down the path that ran beside the river’s edge.
The tears overwhelmed her as she made her way past the first pier and on into the overgrown area upstream. A narrow dirt track led along the riverbank to a second pier, where people used to fish all the time.
She walked out onto the pier, the wooden slats smooth and cool under her feet. She sank down onto one of the benches and wrestled her tears under control. She had no reason to cry.
She was alive, and it was a beautiful day. She sat on the pier for a long while as the sun sank in the sky and the light turned golden. It was peaceful here, watching the river run, listening to it burble underneath the pier’s planking as it rolled its way to the sea. She let her thoughts run free, and of course, her mind went back to last night and the touch of Hugh’s hand, and the feel of his skin, and the way she had floated across the dance floor in his arms.
And then, as if she’d conjured him up with her thoughts, Baron Woolham strolled down the pier and sat himself right down next to her.
He said nothing. Instead, like one of those English lords in one of Momma’s books, he handed her a fine cotton handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it. “Your mascara has run a little bit,” he said.
She took the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. The soft cotton came away black. She didn’t even want to think about how she looked at this moment—poured into a too-tight dress, her hair all windblown from her wild ride on Dash’s pony, and eye makeup destroyed by a PMS-laden moment.
And then there were her dirty, bare feet, and her close encounter with a pile of horse pucky.
So much for her carefully groomed professionalism.
“In case you’re wondering,” Hugh said in his clipped accent and deep, sexy voice, “I wanted to put my fist through that buggar’s face. I might have done, too, except I worried that it might have added to your problems. And of course, I didn’t want to damage any more faces in Last Chance. I’ve been rather a prat in that regard.”
She straightened up and turned in his direction. He had cocked his head and was giving her the oddest smile. It didn’t quite touch his lips, but his eyes were full of kindness.
Something eased inside her chest. “Buggar? You mean Dash, right? You already punched Bubba.”
He nodded. “I really think that lassoing someone off a parade float is rather an immature way of showing one’s affection.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Apparently I’m seriously out of step with you Yanks in this regard. And up to now, I was thinking that Last Chance and Woolham were quite alike, actually.”
She laughed. “You’re being droll or something, aren’t you?”
“Or something,” he muttered. “Look, Caroline, I know it’s really not my place, but um… well, you see, I know everyone says Miriam Randall never gets it wrong, but that prat is not the right man for you.”
She let go of a sudden and unexpected laugh. “What makes you say that?”
“He’s a terrible dancer.”
His gaze seemed more avid than it should be. He leaned in a little bit, close enough for Caroline to see the texture of his closely shaved whiskers and to feel his body heat. She suddenly wanted to snuggle up to him and rest her head on his shoulder. He had very broad shoulders, like every good English hero ought. But she couldn’t do that. Snuggling up to him would be very unprofessional. She needed to start thinking with her brains and not her hormones.
“Well,” she said, “dancing isn’t everything.”
“No. I suppose not. But you danced with Dash, and then ran away and came down here for a cry?” Hugh’s mouth finally quirked into a funny, uneven line. “I thought that was rather interesting, so I escaped from Cissy and came down to see if it was his dancing or something else.”
She looked away.
“So, what is it?”
She lifted a shoulder. “It’s really stupid. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“Well, it’s just that every time I put on this dress, it’s like I have to live up to something that isn’t true.”
“What?”
“My brother, Stone, ran off with a Watermelon Queen when he was eighteen. He and Sharon found a justice of the peace and got married and didn’t come back for two days.”
“So what does that have to do with you?”
“It’s complicated. See, my sister-in-law died in a car wreck a few years ago, and if that hadn’t happened, she and Stone would probably be here together today, and everyone would be joking and laughing and retelling their story. But instead, no one can talk about it because it makes everyone so sad.”
“I see. So you were crying about Sharon?”
She nodded. “Yeah, and the expectations that Sharon’s behavior has imposed on every Watermelon Queen since. It’s like the town wants us all to run off and have a romance. When the truth is, Sharon, probably more than anyone else, is the person who encouraged me to avoid romance, go to college, and find a career instead.”
“Right. I think I’m getting it. But I must admit that I do sometimes have rather a problem with female logic.” He said it with humor in his voice; otherwise she might have punched him herself.
“See, Bubba asked me to marry him in front of everyone that summer I was Watermelon Queen. He had a full ride to Clemson, and I had a scholarship that I worked hard for at the University of South Carolina. He wanted me to give up my scholarship and come to Clemson, where I couldn’t afford to go to school. But he just wanted me to be his wife. He practically expected it, because that’s what Sharon did.
“I’ll never understand why Sharon gave up her chance to go to college. I’ve never asked my brother because it’s too sensitive a subject. But I knew I wanted to go to college. So I told Bubba no.
“The first time I said it privately.
“The second time, he forced the issue and asked me in front a big crowd of people. And I got angry and said a few things I’m not proud of. I’ve paid the price. Not only because I was ugly to Bubba, but because small towns are places where myths are invented on a daily basis. And the myth in this town is that I treated Bubba so bad that I broke his heart. He fell apart and ended up flunking out of college, thereby messing up a bright NCAA college football career that was going to land him in the NFL.
“Sharon was proud of me for sticking to my g
uns. She might have been the only one. And I miss her.”
Caroline pressed the handkerchief to her cheeks. “I’m sorry. You didn’t need to know all that, did you?”
Hugh reached out and patted her hand. His skin was warm and his hands conveyed a sense of gentle strength. “Darling, small villages can be trying sometimes. People must have their heroes, and when the heroes fall, someone has to be blamed.”
“What do you know about small towns?”
“I’ve lived my entire life in Woolham, which is about the same size as Last Chance. And being the lord there, everyone in the village expects me to live up to a standard set by my grandfather. I’m afraid I’ve been a terrible disappointment to them at times, and they’ve blamed my aunts for it.”
“Your aunts?”
“Yes, they raised me after Granddad got sick. And my aunts are a bit, well, peculiar. They get blamed for everything I do that isn’t exactly like what my grandfather did. It’s not quite fair to them because I’m the one who’s a failure.”
Somewhere close by, a cicada turned on its motor. The sounds of children laughing and country music floated on the summer air. And suddenly it seemed hotter and more humid than it had been a moment before. Everything seemed clearer, louder, larger than life. Even the texture of her tulle skirt against her legs seemed to affirm that she was alive. She could feel the life in everything around her.
“How are you a failure?” she asked. “You seem very successful to me. You went to college. You’ve invented a new kind of loom. You’re going to build a factory and employ people.”
He smiled with his eyes. “Well, the jury is still out on the factory, isn’t it?”
“Yes but—”
“You are so lovely,” Hugh said, halting her arguments. He raised his hand and adjusted the ribbon garland in her hair. His stiff upper lip softened. “Like the Queen of the American faeries. You look like you belong right here, among the palmettos and Spanish moss.”
Caroline closed her eyes and swallowed hard, but neither of those things did anything to stop the shivery feeling overtaking her middle or the prickling of her scalp where Hugh touched her hair. He thought she was lovely? She’d just shown him the worst parts of Rocky Rhodes and he’d taken them all in stride.
